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Root

She was the manifestation of underground roots, Those seldom seen from which such gift can be given, bronze skin. Her hair symbolized what I felt as our eyes connected. Her voice lifted my spirit higher than it's ever been. Without anything to return, How do I reciprocate such a gift. A thank you would hardly do justice. Where has this been all of my life, her- using my hands as a vase to convene. Hearing her voice blossom from the bud of where I stood. A question that went in silence. For the light that shines bright inside her blocks out that of the sun. A space free to fill with what you please. These are the words I pictured her telling me. Over and over again until I was full enough to be tilted over and water her just as shes watered me. The root that no one remembers to water

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